


Close Enough

by Laylah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Power Dynamics, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-20
Updated: 2006-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t fucking care what’s in it for you.” His hands slide across Greed’s skin, trailing the crackle of tiny, threatening explosions, little burns that heal almost immediately. “That’s your problem.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [With a Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/224585) by [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah). 



There are crashing noises coming from the other room. Crashes, or perhaps—more likely—explosions.

Greed shuts off the water and steps out of the shower, more than a little annoyed. It isn’t so much to ask, to be left alone long enough to enjoy a few simple pleasures in peace. But some people are almost as demanding as he is.

“It’s my turn,” Kimberly says when Greed walks out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips.

“Aah,” Greed says. He’s been expecting this to come up eventually. He steps over the remains of the lamp that used to stand on the dresser, dropping his towel as he climbs into bed. Kimberly’s eyes track him, helplessly drawn to his body—to his cock—and Greed smiles. “Your turn for what, exactly?”

Kimberly glares. “My turn to fuck you.”

“I’d been wondering how long it would take you to get to that point.” Greed reaches for Kimberly, opening the buttons on his black shirt. “What’s in it for me?”

There are probably half a dozen right answers to that, so it is disappointing to discover that Kimberly has none of them. “I don’t fucking care what’s in it for you.” His hands slide across Greed’s skin, trailing the crackle of tiny, threatening explosions, little burns that heal almost immediately. “That’s your problem.”

Greed sighs. “I suppose it is, isn’t it.” He stops messing with Kimberly’s buttons and grabs his wrists instead, holding them down irritably. “Though I don’t know why you always want to do things the hard way.”

Kimberly thrashes against him, struggling, and Greed leans in closer, pinning him with his body. Kimberly’s been recovering well from the prison, his strength coming back fast, but he will never be as strong as Greed. “It’s the only way to get anything from you, you prick.”

“Have you ever tried anything else?” Greed asks with a little smile, and leans down to kiss Kimberly without waiting for an answer. He suspects he knows exactly why Kimberly always wants to fight with him—suspects the answer is twitching and hardening against his thigh right this minute. Kimberly bites him when he rocks against it, but Greed takes that as encouragement, rubbing up against Kimberly’s cock and bleeding into his mouth.

“Fuck you,” Kimberly snarls when he pulls free at last, his mouth flushed red and his eyes flashing gold.

“We’ll get there,” Greed promises, his hips still moving slowly. “Don’t be in such a hurry.”

Kimberly shudders under him involuntarily, glaring. “You’re such a bastard.”

Greed laughs. “You’d get bored if I wasn’t.” He lets go of Kimberly’s wrists, rolling backward, and Kimberly rubs at them where they reddened in Greed’s grip. It’s not going to do him much good, but Greed doesn’t bother to point that out—instead he reaches down to the floor, snagging the cord from the destroyed lamp.

“What are you doing?” Kimberly asks, his voice flat and hostile. He tenses but doesn’t try to pull away when Greed captures his wrists in one large hand.

“Being a bastard,” Greed says with a nasty smile. “You agree to keep your hands where I put them, and not make anything go boom, and I agree to ride you for as long as you want.”

Kimberly draws a hissing, shuddering breath, even as he’s baring his teeth. He’s not just feral, Greed thinks—he’s rabid. But he’s a brilliant fucking weapon, worth the effort of keeping him.

And when he doesn’t protest, and doesn’t struggle, Greed figures that’s close enough to consent. He winds the cord three times around Kimberly’s wrists and then twice between them, immobilizing his hands with the palms pressed together.

“Lie back,” Greed says, pushing with one hand flat against Kimberly’s chest, following him down onto the bed, biting at the smooth skin under his jaw. Kimberly arches and shudders and hisses, and lets Greed pull his hands up and tie them to the bedframe. He tugs at the bondage, not seriously, just hard enough to make the cheap metal frame creak.

“This had better be good,” he says. Greed’s not worried. He has his hand in Kimberly’s trousers, pulling the soft linen back, and if anything Kimberly is harder than he was before he was bound.

“I think you’ll like it,” Greed says. He pulls Kimberly’s trousers down around his thighs and reaches for his cock, stroking slowly. Kimberly arches his back, pulling the lean muscles of his chest and shoulders into sharp relief as he tugs against his bondage. His teeth are bared in a snarl, but his curses sound more appreciative than angry.

“Stop—teasing,” Kimberly says at last, after no amount of writhing and cursing makes Greed move faster. “Stop teasing and—let—me— _fuck_ you.”

Greed smiles, shark-hungry and confident. He’s tempted to keep waiting, to draw it out, to see if he can make Kimberly actually beg, but he decides against it. He wants to keep Kimberly interested, not make him really angry. And besides—there’s a limit to how long he likes to keep _himself_ waiting.

“All you had to do was ask,” he says. There’s oil on the bedside table, to make it easier when he does this to Kimberly, and he grabs the bottle now, drizzling oil down Kimberly’s cock. A few quick strokes of his hand smear it slick and shiny-wet, and Greed plants his knees on either side of Kimberly’s waist, still smiling. “Now?”

“Yes, you fucking bastard, now,” Kimberly growls, and Greed sinks down on him in one smooth, easy motion. Kimberly moans, and then something jealous and angry wakes in his face at how easy it is. “F-fuck, who else have you been with?”

Anyone he can get his hands on, but that’s not what Kimberly needs to hear. They have a truce right now, after all. “I’m not human, remember?” Greed shifts his hands, drawing black claws down Kimberly’s chest where his shirt gaps open. “I have a lot more conscious control over my body than that.” Which is true, as far as it goes, and like hell he’s going to name his other partners so that his jealous alchemist can turn them into walking explosives.

“Show—show me,” Kimberly purrs, arching up into him, toward the claws. He needs to be hurt as much as he needs to do the hurting, even if he won’t admit to that part.

Greed flicks open the last few buttons on Kimberly’s shirt with a smile, pushing the fabric aside, exposing the hollow of his stomach—still so lean, so hungry-looking. He lets his claws rest there, on that soft, vulnerable skin, as much of a threat as when Kimberly touches him the same way. Kimberly doesn’t quite say _yes_ , doesn’t quite say _please_ , but the need and anger are clear in his face. Greed rocks his hips, feeling Kimberly sink deeper into him, letting his shield creep a little further up his arms and legs at every slow stroke.

It makes Kimberly’s breathing quicken, makes him arch his back, thrusting deeper and faster. He strains against the cord, and Greed could almost believe that he just wants to touch, wants to feel the slick hardness of Greed’s living armor, but not quite. He’s unstable, unpredictable, vicious—Greed has no intention of letting him get the upper hand.

“You like it, don’t you?” Greed asks, watching the frustration in Kimberly’s eyes, the flush to his sallow cheeks. “Being reminded what I am. What you’re doing.” He tilts his hips, changing the angle, fucking himself on Kimberly’s cock, and a low purr escapes him at how good it feels.

“You’re unnatural,” Kimberly answers, watching Greed lift one hand — sleek, black, armored—to wrap around his cock—still warm, velvety, flesh—and start to stroke. “You’re an abomination.” The harshness of the words doesn’t make it to his tone, yearning, pleading.

Greed moans, matching the rhythm of his hand to the rhythm of Kimberly’s hips, arching up, driving into him. “That’s why, isn’t it?” he murmurs. “You need to, mmm...fuck me because you can’t—aah—kill me.”

It’s good enough that Kimberly doesn’t even fight him over that, just hisses, “Yess....” through clenched teeth and moves a little faster. Greed rides him hard, snarling, letting his control slip as much as he dares. He could come from just that, the thrust and slide and burn of Kimberly’s cock inside him, if he had the patience—but not tonight, fuck, not tonight, right now he wants to get _off_ , right now he’s waited long enough.

And he gets what Kimberly sees in explosions, he really does, because this feels like shattering, like Law taking his head off with the hammer, light and heat and complete loss of control for one shining fucking perfect moment — his eyes roll back in his head and his hands clench and he hears Kimberly hiss—

When he opens his eyes at last Kimberly is covered in his come, still hard, glaring at him in what looks like triumph, his whole body tense from the effort of holding on through it. “As long as I want,” he rasps.

“That was the deal,” Greed agrees. He leans forward, reaching up to take Kimberly’s hands in his own. The cord is tight around the alchemist’s wrists—too tight, Greed decides, and the sharp edges of his claws cut it away from the bedframe.

Kimberly goes very still beneath him. “Changing the rules?”

“Not at all.” Greed unwinds the cord as his hands shift back to flesh. Kimberly’s fingers are cold to the touch—he’s been struggling enough that he probably lost all circulation. “I just wouldn’t want to damage these lovely weapons.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” Kimberly says, rocking up into Greed again.

Greed pushes back to match his stroke, growling, capturing his wrists in both hands and pinning them beside his shoulders. “I don’t know why you think I want to,” he says, meeting Kimberly’s burning stare as he starts to really move, flexing and rocking.

Kimberly thrashes, but the same motion that almost jars his hands free also drives his cock in deep—and when Greed leans down to kiss him he hisses “fuck you,” but not “no,” so Greed figures there’s no reason to let go or slow down. It won’t be too much longer before Kimberly can’t stand it anymore, can’t keep fighting—already he’s kissing back less fiercely, distracted, not bothering to pull against Greed’s hold on his wrists, all his energy going into the thrust of his hips.

“Getting what you want?” Greed asks, purring the words into Kimberly’s mouth.

“If you fucking stop I’ll kill you,” Kimberly hisses back, and lunges up to bite before Greed can point out how difficult that would be.

He doesn’t _want_ to stop, even if Kimberly doesn’t believe it. This feels good, hot and slick and punishing, and it’s moments like this when Kimberly is reduced to pure, blind need that they come closest to understanding each other. They’re almost alike right now, close enough that he mostly believes Kimberly will stay — and when Kimberly’s back arches right up off the bed in a bow and he shudders hard, he actually moans “ _Yes_ ,” his voice choked like the word hurts him, and it’s almost, almost right.

Greed waits there for a long minute afterward, watching Kimberly’s chest rise and fall as his breathing slows, his skin sheened with sweat and come, his body limp and relaxed. “Get off,” he says eventually.

“What, again?” Greed smirks, and Kimberly glares at him, but there’s no real heat in it. He lifts himself up slowly, off Kimberly’s cock and then further, off his hips to collapse onto the bed next to him.

Kimberly, for his part, doesn’t immediately try to blow his head off, so Greed figures he must have gotten _something_ he wanted. Instead he sighs and stretches, his eyes half-lidded, looking almost content.

“Can I go get that shower now?” Greed asks. “Or are you going to blow up more shit as soon as I leave the room?”

“That depends.” Kimberly gives him a sidelong smirk that almost looks like a come-on—that would _be_ a come-on, from somebody else. “You going to scrub my back?”

Greed smiles slowly, pleasantly surprised. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Come on.” He reaches out, and Kimberly takes his hand, and for now, at least, the truce holds.


End file.
